Excerpt from the Book

Paul Pinkerton watched his friends disappear into the belly of the
cavernous plane and desperately wished there was some way to
escape. But of course, there wasn’t. He’d spent a year preparing for this
moment and now, standing in full military dress, laden with combat gear,
there was no turning back.

It was late July, 1968. As he nervously paced the tarmac of Peterson
Field in Colorado Springs and waited to enter the plane that would take
him to Vietnam, he felt more like a frightened and resentful child than the
confident Army sergeant he was presumed to be.

Initially he had viewed the war as something to tolerate, a major
inconvenience given the fact he was newly married and starting a career
as a barber. A few clergy in town had carefully composed letters for their
young parishioners in order for them to obtain conscientious objector status,
but Paul felt they were all liars and cheats who had deceived both
their Government and the God they professed to worship. He wanted no
part of it. So, while he didn’t much care about flying halfway across the
globe to stop the spread of Communism, his sense of duty, responsibility,
and patriotism prevailed.

Not that this feeling came easily or naturally. He hated the idea of
being plucked from his middle class life and thrust into war in a country
he could barely locate on a map. But worse than that, as the date of
departure drew near, he became terrified. Dire warnings from basic training
replayed in his head—day in and day out—like a long-running, tormenting
tape. Although he didn’t know much about war or combat, he knew it was inherently dangerous and most likely deadly, and dying at
twenty years of age was not in his plans.

An early, fleeting thought of escaping to Canada was not an option.
He was much too attached to his parents and siblings to leave them for an
indeterminate amount of time. Plus, his father-in-law, a World War II veteran,
would never allow his daughter to leave the country dishonorably.
Furthermore, desertion was unheard of in his small home town of Manheim,
Pennsylvania. It simply wasn’t done.

So here he stood, armed with the little Bible his father had given him
and a fierce resentment of the U.S. Government for placing him in the
unenviable position of going to war. His mind was filled with wild and
irrational thoughts of what awaited him in Vietnam. He was certain he’d
have to shoot his way off the plane; a strange misconception that had
originated during basic training.

Paul’s friends didn’t share his opinions or his fears. Mild-mannered
Mike Hardin, Paul’s closest buddy, took a pragmatic approach to military
duty. Mike admitted that serving in a war was not something he relished,
but felt it was required payment for living the good life in Ohio. As he put
it, “Women bear children and men go to war. It’s most likely unpleasant,
but it’s something you accept because you are who you are.” Although
sad to leave his family and new bride behind, his feelings were tempered
by a healthy dose of youthful cockiness and an untested sense of bravery.

Mike and twenty-three-year-old (Everett) Lewis Page stood together
on the tarmac laughing and cutting up for the camera as one of their buddies
snapped pictures. Lewis regarded his tour as an exotic and exciting
adventure. He was the youngest son in a long line of military men and
going to war was an expected obligation. He sauntered into the plane on
Mike’s heels waving a Confederate flag and replacing his military helmet
with a Confederate hat; typical accoutrements for a man from Georgia in
those days. The two sat together in the back of the aircraft near the cargo
area and exchanged small talk during the long flight.

Paul, Mike, and Lewis were all part of a large military organization:
the 1st Infantry Brigade, 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized). Their unit
was the Headquarters Company of the 1st Infantry Battalion, 61st Infantry
(Mechanized) also known as the 1st of the 61st (1/61st), and they were
members of a 4.2 mortar platoon—one of the most dangerous occupations
in Vietnam.

They had arrived in Fort Carson, Colorado in March under the code
name “Project Diamond” to reorganize and train for deployment to Vietnam.
During the fifteen-week training course there had been glimmers of
hope the deployment wouldn’t occur, but it was only political spin. The
war continued. Their Division was alerted for riot control duty on April
6 following the April 4 assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Paul, Mike, and Lewis had stayed in the airport with their uniforms on, but
were not called to duty while their sister unit, the 1/11th had been briefly
deployed to Chicago. The three men thought that additional rioting might
keep them stateside but, when regular training resumed just a week later,
it was certain their destiny was Southeast Asia.

Men in other divisions traveled to Vietnam on commercial jets while
Paul, Mike, and Lewis flew on the massive C-141A StarLifter. It was the
first jet aircraft designed to meet military standards as both a troop and
cargo carrier. Although it may have been acceptable for carrying cargo, it
was less than luxurious for passengers. The men sat shoulder-to-shoulder
in small canvas jump seats that ran lengthwise along the outer edges of the
plane facing inward, or in back-to-back seats in the middle of the aircraft,
facing outward. A few small windows were located in the back of the
plane where cargo and weapons were stored; otherwise the environment
was dark and close.

There were no flight attendants. Meal service consisted of warm canteen
water and bad C-rations. The uncomfortable conditions rendered it
almost impossible to sleep and there was nothing to distract one’s
thoughts except for mindless chatter or the occasional card game.

Paul didn’t enter the plane with his buddies. He was too engrossed in
his own anxieties to seek them out, too worried to socialize. His brooding
thoughts finally exhausted him and he went to the back of the plane
to look for a place to sleep. Unfortunately, the weapons and gear were
piled too high to make that a practical plan.